


Soldiering On

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BAMF!John, BAMF!Lestrade, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second time John visited Sherlock's grave, he met another man. Someone who was in a shockingly similar situation as him. Together, they form a connection deeper than they realize in hopes that they can heal each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the second time he was visiting his grave, but it felt like the hundredth. He had subconsciously memorized the route down to the number of steps and gravestones that he passed by. _Strange how the mind works_ , he thought.

John had reached the grave. The marble stone placed in memorial of a man that changed so many lives, especially his own; it did him no justice. In actuality, he had no idea what he was even doing there, besides just staring at a piece of rock and dirt and reminiscing of a man who was never returning though he expected it and hating himself for following him and- oh god, he had to control himself. _Not in public, at least. Just give me this._

A few deep breaths later calmed the anxiety brought on by depression, and he turned away from the scene and to his left where he saw a man also in front of a grave. Tall, strong, with a commanding aura about him; he looked like a man who was in love with the battlefield, a man who had just lost his sense of being, a man who needed a purpose. A man like himself.

There was no reasoning behind him walking up to the man, other than spontaneity and idiocy. He let out a heavy sigh and looked at the headstone. The only word on it was "M", and nothing else.

After a few seconds of silence, John finally decided to speak. "It was worth it, wasn't it?"

The man looked at John, an eyebrow raised. "You too?"

"Oh yes," he solemnly nodded, returning to the stone. "They make you feel needed and invaluable."

"Like the world is ending and only you can save it."

"Like you're in the battlefield where you belong, with them close by."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Though it can be irritating at most times."

John laughed as well. "You could do without the snide remarks and the inhumanity."

"But you're right: it was worth it." He looked back at the doctor to find his hand extended in welcome.

"John Watson."

He hesitated, then accepted politely. "Bond. James Bond."

John smiled. "Strange way to introduce yourself."

"Stranger is the fact you're chatting up a man you've only just met at a funeral, Mr. Watson."

"Doctor, actually. But you can call me John." He let go of Bond's hand and tucked his own into his pocket. "Apparently I do this kind of thing often. My friend, flatmate actually, he used to get angry when I brought home stray animals off the street and nurse them to health. It was pretty funny, because he would get all riled up and start ranting and threatening to shoot the walls again-" He would have continued, but there was something caught in his throat and a stinging in his eyes.

Bond didn't seem to notice, as he was too busy smiling at the image of the scene. "He sounds like he was a good man."

"The best I knew."

There was another silence, when John broke it again. "Hey, um, this might sound weird, but do you want to go out for a pint? There's a place nearby and-"

But before John could finish, the man was already walking away, calling him over. "I know a shortcut."

* * *

 

They were on their third round of drinks when John took a break from talking about his and Sherlock's meeting- "I, um, may have injured a man from across two buildings, which may or may not have caused him to experience brain trauma and die. The jury is still out." "Nice shot." "If I respond to that, I may have to go to prison."- when Bond opened up about him and the mysterious M.

"She was my boss; known her since I started working. We didn't always see eye to eye and got into quite a lot of arguments. In fact, I snuck into her apartment twice; the first time I hacked into her computer to look up some classified information, found her real name and left on my own accord. The second, I was hung over, and she kicked me out after telling me she sold my apartment and all my belongings."

John laughed aloud, recalling Mrs. Hudson, as he ordered some scotch. "Sounds like she was a killer."

"You have no idea," he said, taking a sip, and averted his gaze while sighing exasperatedly. "She... She died in my arms. I could feel the life rush out of her. It was my job to protect her, and I failed."

Bending his head down, John spoke. "I always believed in Sherlock and the fact that he wasn't a fake, unlike what everyone is saying. But-" He paused, and tried again more willingly. "But, before he jumped, I was there around the building and saw him on the roof. He called me, and he- he-" He gulped, and forced himself to continue. "He said that everyone was right about him being a fraud, and that I should just forget him. And... and he made me watch him jump."

He took a large swig and let out a forced laugh. "God, I couldn't even tell my shrink this, and I'm spilling the beans to you. Must be hammered as fucking hell."

But instead of doing what John thought he would do (leave him there alone), Bond placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I understand John."

For a few moments, they remained so, neither man looking at the other, when someone's phone trilled. Bond let go of his shoulder and dug the mobile out. "I'm sorry to cut this meeting short, but I am needed elsewhere." Standing up, he pulled out a few notes, and gave John a stiff nod. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Watson."

"You too, Mr. Bond," he said, fishing a pen out of his coat and scribbling something down on a napkin, handing it to the man.

Reading what was written, Bond gave a slight smile. "You just met me and you're giving me your address?"

"Us ex-military men should stick together, right? Plus, I liked taking to you."

"You could tell I was in the military?"

"It was just a feeling, and you just proved I was right."

His smile grew wider, as he pocketed the note. "I will cherish this information."

When he left, John heaved a huge sigh, wondering when he'd meet the mysterious man again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback! Now without further ado...

John had left Baker Street days after Sherlock died and he was beginning his new life in a new flat, far away from the memory of his old flatmate. Mrs. Hudson would come by to visit occasionally, as would Lestrade and Molly. 

With Lestrade he had kindled a strong friendship, and they would go out occasionally for drinks and discuss their lives. He had been fired from Scotland Yard with honors to avoid a scandal, and was still job-hunting with little money remaining. John had repeatedly offered to have him stay at his place, but every time he declined, though it was getting increasingly harder to do so.

Molly, on the other hand, was particularly shy but would never neglect to come over once in a while for tea. Their relationship was still extremely awkward but he didn't mind the company, considering that it was limited.

Though he no longer worked for Sarah, John had no financial worries due to the unwanted interference from Mycroft. He always found himself with plenty of food and enough cash for a lifetime. Having nothing else to do aside from wallowing in regret, he began to write a novelization of the cases he and Sherlock worked on.

 _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ was off to a good start, but whenever John began typing, the emotions began to swell inside him and cause constant breaks and meditation sessions. But it was helping him cope, and eventually all he wanted to do was write. For him, it was the next best thing to having Sherlock back.

He was halfway done with _A Scandal in Belgravia_ (a title which Sherlock did not fully understand and caused immense frustration, to the amusement of John and now just caused pain at the thought) when someone knocked. It was close to midnight and hardly anyone he knew would decide to come at that hour, so he picked his Browning and cautiously opened the door.

A man lay on the ground, battered and bruised with a large gash to his leg and numerous cuts to his arms. One of his eyes were black and his nose seemed to be broken, but there was a smug grin on his face. Only when he saw the napkin in his hands did John realize the man was James Bond.

John did not ask what the bloody hell happened to him nor why the hell he was at the hospital, or shut the door in his face. Instead, he tentatively grabbed the fallen man's torso and escorted him up the steps and onto the couch of his flat.

When he came back with medical supplies, he found Bond struggling to sit up straight. Sighing exasperatedly, John rushed to him and pushed him down. "No you don't; it'll only make it worse. God, you can't sit still for a moment, can you?"

The smile widened on the injured man's face, and John found himself doing the same.

"Right. There's too much blood to see the injuries properly, so we'll need to take off your clothes and wipe off the excess. Then, I'll stitch up what I can and give you some anesthetic to let you sleep, then some painkillers in the morning. Do you understand?"

A small nod prompted John to begin unbuttoning the shirt and pulling off the jacket. Through the whole ordeal, he was surprised Bond was not moaning in pain. _Must've been the army work, I suppose._

After using a warm towel to wipe off the blood, he injected a small amount of anesthetic and began to patch up the large wound on Bond's abdomen. He was finally finished after depleting his entire roll of bandages and was forced to use some common cloth lying around. It was then he noticed he no longer had any painkillers to give to his patient. Swearing, he checked his phone wondering who would be awake at this time of night, and who would be discreet enough to keep the situation quiet. His first and only choice was Greg.

"Hey Greg?" John said after dialing.

" _John? 'Know what time it is?_ " cams the sleepy reply.

"Yeah I do. But I need you to run to the nearest drugstore and pick up this brand of medicine I'm texting you now."

" _Why the bloody fuck should I?_ "

"I- um...” It was only then John realized how strange the situation was and how the truth would have been too much for Lestrade. “I got- got hit on the head earlier today and have a massive headache. Come soon; not sure how long I can hold up."

" _.... Fine. Be there in a mo'._ "

As soon as he was done talking to the ex-DI, his phone trilled a text.

_Who is in your flat? -MH_

Angrily he replied, _None of your business._

_John, you do not know who you are dealing with. Release custody of that man at once. -MH_

_That man is severely hurt and it's my duty as a doctor to bring him to health._

_It is your duty as a British citizen to listen to me and obey my orders. -MH_

_And I thought you just occupied a minor position. Piss off Mycroft._

Turing his phone off, he took one long look at James, and wondered who he was to engage such a reaction in Mycroft.

A few minutes of patiently waiting later, the door was knocked for the second time that night. Excepting Greg, he rushed to open it.

It wasn't Greg.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 It took John 4.13 seconds to realize the man in front of him was going to kill him, and .5 seconds for him to react appropriately.

The man was wearing a fine-tailored suit with a receding hairline and grimacing expression, but John immediately noticed the holster attached to his belt. With one swift movement, John elbowed the man, grabbed his gun, and whacked his head with the butt.

Gun still in hand, he returned to Bond and began to slowly move him outside, along with his Browning and a medical supply bag, by which point Greg had arrived.

“John, what the hell?” he started, assisting John with bringing his things and the man into the backseat. “Who the bloody fuck is this? And who's that guy passed out on your front porch?”

“I'll explain on the way,” John promised, getting into the car. “Just start driving as fast as you can.”

Lestrade stared at him for a second, taking in the strong demeanor, straight posture and barking of orders. “Yes, sir. But I hope you have a good explanation.”

As they began heading out, John turned on his phone to find one long message from Mycroft awaiting. Though the last thing he wanted to do was listen to his bureaucratic nonsense, he knew there might be an explanation as to why there was a man with a gun outside his flat.

_John, that man in your flat is an important MI6 officer, who has information regarding the inner workings of a terrorist organization. I would have sent agents to apprehend you earlier, but our sensors have been hacked. As we try to regain control, I would advise you to head to the safest location available and inform me of your whereabouts. Wherever you are, get out NOW. -MH_

“Alright, solider, what's going on?” Greg finally asked.

“I'm not really sure, to be honest,” he admitted, looking out the window cautiously.

“At least tell me why we've got a beat-up man in the backseat, and how you've got two guns when I know you only have one, which is still technically apart of an ongoing investigation.”

John turned around to look at his patient, who was slightly stirring, before looking back to the driver. “His name is James Bond, and he apparently is an MI6 agent, according to Mycroft. And the guns, well the investigation is closed anyway.”

“And what was he doing at your house at 1 in the morning, unless you're leading a secret double-life that I was never aware of. In that case, you might have to kill me if you tell me; isn't that how it goes? Am I suddenly apart of a conspiracy?”

“Calm down Greg, I'm not a secret agent. But you might be apart of a conspiracy; I'm not sure what's really going here. I met Bond recently and we hit off. Suddenly, he appeared at my flat battered and bruised so I decided to patch him up. Then Mycroft started trying to get him out of my flat so I ignored him. Suddenly, a guy came up to me with a gun and I used self-defense and stole his gun. Now Mycroft says that we have to go to 'the safest location available and inform him of our whereabouts'.”

For a moment, Lestrade remained silent and John was afraid he was going to crack. Then, “If I was still a detective I would have arrested you by now. Alright, where we headed to now?”

“Somewhere where we could defend ourselves easily with minimal causalities, in case more people come after us. Know anyplace?”

For the first time that night, Greg smiled. “Know just the place.”

* * *

 

It took them about ten minutes to reach the warehouse. As the ex-DI unlocked the door, John went to check up on James. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was labored and it wouldn't be long before he would wake up.

Once they went inside, John could not help but gasp. The area was tightly packed with food, toiletries and numerous weapons, as well as lots of medicinal items. “How long have you had this apocalypse bunker, Greg?”

The man laughed. “It was a case a few years back, where a mob boss burned my house down and threatened to kill me and my ex-wife. We had to stay here for two months, and ever since then, I've kept it clear.

“Now,” he sighed, collapsing besides Bond on the couch. “Shouldn't we call Mycroft?”

But before John could respond, there was a loud crash outside, and suddenly the bangs of gunshots were heard. “I think it might be a bit too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any plot holes and the shortness of the chapter. I hope it was enjoyable anyways.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't abandon this! Just some dreadful thing called 'life' got in the way. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

John took a deep breath, and began to assess the situation. Analyzing the loud bang from outside the storage unit, he could determine that there were multiple men each armed with small handguns. He turned to Greg with a commanding look.

"Call Mycroft and tell him where we are. Then get the painkillers out and take care of James."

Greg nodded, uneasy. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to hold them off for as long as I can."

"John, that's insane; you'll get yourself killed! You can't go alone."

"Greg, you're a civilian and Bond is a liability. I'll do it myself, or did you forget my army training?"

"Did _you_ forget my years of being a detective?" Greg scoffed, grabbing John's extra gun. "You’re as bout as much as a civilian as I am, so don’t get all hypocritical on me. I'm coming with you whether you like it or not."

"Your command has been overruled," said a gruff voice from behind them. James was sauntering slowly towards them, gun clutched in his hand. "I'll be joining you gentlemen as well."

John stiffly shook his head. "You're injured; can't have you fighting out where it can get worse."

Bond smirked. "On the contrary, Captain, I've been in situations much worse than this. Compared to them, I might as well be Superman right now, sir."

"How'd you know I was a captain in the army?"

The agent's smirk widened. "Researched you; didn't want to wind up on the doorstep of a sod that’d turn me in if I came to their doorstep bloodied up."

John raised a tantalizing brow. "’Didn't peg myself as the type who'd do the opposite."

There was a small silence as the two ex-military men shared a moment, when they were cut off by Lestrade. "You two can flirt all you want once we get the fuck outta here. What's the plan John?"

At that moment, there was a series if sharp bangs as the men outside began to burst down the door. John's mind began to race, coming up with an adequate battle plan. "The door can't hold for much longer, and unless Mycroft's men can teleport, we're on our own. Is there a back door?"

"Think so."

"Right then. James and I'll stay here, while you go out from there. There seems to be about twelve of them, so we'll each take three. Try to keep casualties at a minimum unless absolutely necessary. Understood?"

The other two men nodded, taking their weapons' safeties off. John followed suit, a strange feeling erupting inside him. But all thoughts were driven out of his mind when the door fell down and the gunshots began.

Everything after that was just a blur of adrenaline. He could faintly remember shouting some orders, a few bloody bodies on the floor and a strong ferocity in the air. The thing which he craved- what he needed- what he lost.

The next thing he knew was someone gripping his shoulders in a comforting manner. When he turned around prepared to shoot, he saw James smirking at him. "Relax, Captain. We've got them."

John finally noticed all the agents surrounding him, apprehending the now-injured criminals. He turned back to Bond and before he could stop himself, burst into laughter. "Oh god. I- I- oh god." He wiped away a small tear of mirth.

"You seemed quite the wild thing out there," said Bond.

"Weren't so bad yourself, I suppose," he retorted, after controlling himself. "Where's Greg?"

"Right here," the man in question called from behind him. "Could somebody tell this twit that I'm not some sort of fucked-up mercenary?"

The man talking to Greg turned around and held out a hand to John. "Ah, you must be Dr. Watson. Bill Tanner; pleased to meet you."

John nodded. "Likewise. Let me guess, Mycroft sent you."

"In a sense," he shrugged. "Bond, the flash drive."

"Where's Moneypenny?" James asked, pulling the drive out of a pocket and into the other agent's open hand.

"Dealing with M. He's not so pleased that you brought two civilians into this."

"Neither one of them is really a civilian. Not if you've seen what they can do," Bond replied, looking straight at John. "Tell him in taking the rest of the day off."

"He won't be happy."

"He never is. Besides, I owe John here an explanation."

Tanner gave John a sympathetic look, sighing heavily. "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then."

As the MI6 agents took their leave, Greg walked up to John, shaking his head. "Could either one of you get me a vacation home in Fiji or some place that makes sense?"

"I have a timeshare for a nice mansion in the Philippines," James suggested, still smiling.

"That doesn't sound half bad," the ex-DI chuckled. "Right, well I'm off."

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"Back to my flat with whiskey and some crap telly. I'll see you for drinks tomorrow, John. That is, if you're not off saving the world again."

"I'll keep my schedule open," he replied. "Take care, Greg."

After he left, John looked at the remaining man. "So, what's this explanation you owe me?"

* * *

 It took the whole time from getting out of the storage facility, finding a cab, and going through three bottles of cheap beer for Bond to finally finish his enticing tale of how he had gathered important information regarding terrorist cells from the terrorists themselves.

John found himself hooked onto every word, watching the man opposite him and how his expressions changed regarding the mood of the story. He enjoyed every second of the conversation, finding himself oddly intrigued by the story.

“And that’s that,” James finally concluded, dropping the empty bottle on the table. “That’s how I found myself on your doorstep. Any questions?”

“Just the one: why me?” He looked directly at the agent, trying to see any signs of deception. “Why did you go to me, and not call any of those operatives that help you out? I’m much less qualified than those lot, and you'd been done much earlier had you gone to them. Why _me_?”

Bond gave him the most sincere smile John had ever seen. “Because you needed some excitement. And, well, I found myself having _… fun_ with you around- most fun I’ve had in years, in fact. I think you felt the same way, didn’t you?”

He placed a warm hand on the other man’s, and John found himself leaning into the touch. “I did,” John said softly, and before he could stop himself, he moved forward and gave James a chaste kiss. “I really did.”


End file.
